Sunday, December 1, 2013

maybe i should have pursued a career in proofreading instead of paralegal-ing

Michelle and I have this thing where we take pictures of grammatical mistakes that we come across during the course of our days and then text them to each other, because apparently we feel that we are superior in the grammar department.

(Except every single time I mix up "I" and "me" in a blog post my mom has to email me to tell me to fix it.  It is my one grammatical downfall.)

((Evidently I am not perfect.))


Two of my favorites that I unfortunately do not have pictures of are:

Take it for granite.
I feel so sick, and even my limp noids are swollen.

The other night while I was watching TV, I spotted the description below.   

(Side note: I am currently enthralled with ALL THINGS ALASKA.)

Apparently the current TV Guide proofreader HAS SOME FEELINGS about the liberal use of semicolons, but doesn't have a very tight grip on homophones.  Exhibit A: breaks and brakes.

TV Guide, if you're looking for a proofreader, I AM YOUR GIRL.


Thursday, November 14, 2013

even i didn't know if i could tie together jail, lizards, and candles

A few days ago when I logged into my Facebook account, I saw a status from a guy that I knew in college.  It said something along the lines of, “I was unsure if I should share this information or not, but in the event that anyone has been wondering where I’ve been the last seven days, I’ve been in prison, and it was the most humbling experience of my life.


Apparently if you spend several years ignoring numerous parking tickets and a noise violation, the long arm of the law will reach out and incarcerate you.  

Note to self: Look into that old noise violation.

Oh, I kid.  I never got a noise violation in college myself, but I did spend sophomore year living in an apartment complex across the street from a pizza shop that sold $1.00 slices and banged a gong for every slice sold after midnight.

I know what you’re thinking.

That is some SOLID GOLD real estate.

That was also the same apartment that had Murphy beds and if I’m being honest, I do miss saying, “well, I guess it’s time to go pull my tiny bed out of the wall.” 

 So while I haven’t exactly spent the last seven days in incarceration like Mr. Noise Violator, I have spent them on the phone with my doctor’s office and a medical device company and earlier this afternoon STEAM ACTUALLY CAME OUT OF MY EARS.  After being transferred from one person to another and sitting on hold for the better part of an hour, the woman who was helping me said, “Let me transfer you to customer service and they can take it from here.

As soon as I was transferred I launched into my well rehearsed “Hi, this is Laura and INSERT MEDICAL SAGA HERE,” and the woman on the other line said, “I’m so sorry but I think you have the wrong number, this a commercial trucking company.”


After I was sufficiently frustrated, Matt and I went out to dinner.  I chose Friendly’s because my culinary palate is very sophisticated.  As we were standing in line at the hostess station, Matt gave the ice cream freezer the once over and then with a sparkle in his eye said, “Do you want to just skip the dinner part, and instead buy an ice cream cake and go back to your apartment and eat the whole thing?”

I’ve never loved him more.

But I had a hankering for a munchie mania platter and so we soldiered on in the name of build your own burgers and mozzarella sticks.  

On the way home we drove by Petsmart and in a fit of spontanaeity decided to stop in.  We just wanted to look at the animals but before we went in we agreed that we are NOT currently in the market for any sort of pet.  We browsed the fish aisle for a few minutes and then I wandered over to the rodent department.  I was examining a chinchilla when I looked up to see Matt a few aisles over, ARMS OVERFLOWING with a glass tank and various supplies and equipment.  

 “Whatcha got going on down there?” I asked.

“Oh,” Matt said thoughtfully, “Well...I thought I might get a lizard.”

I will spare you the cliff hanger and tell you that we left the store lizard-less mainly because GROSS.  Although I am not above the impulse pet purchase, as in, during my senior year of college I bought a guinea pig and named her Winnie.


Winnie lasted about a week in our apartment before my roommates and I cut some airholes in a shoebox, packed Winnie inside, called a cab to take us to Petco, and returned Winnie to the establishment from whence she came.

Because a guinea pig at any price isn't a bargain.

Do you know what is a bargain?  The 2 for $22 candles at Bath and Body Works.  Last night Michelle and I went to the mall and stocked up on some Christmas scents, and then celebrated our purchases with dinner at Plaza Azteca because Feliz Navidad!

We are currently burning fresh balsam and evergreen candles, and our apartment smells like a woodland forest.

Which is a lot better than smelling like a lizard.  

Or a guinea pig.

Or, I'd imagine, a jail. 


Monday, November 4, 2013

if anyone has the answer to the titanic question, i'm all ears

A few weeks Emily and I went to a Switchfoot concert.  

Emily is a serious Switchfoot fan.  In contrast, the only Switchfoot songs I know are the ones from the movie A Walk To Remember.  My knowledge includes, but is not limited to, the following verse in their song "Someday We'll Know" which ends with what is quite possibly the most thought provoking lyric OF ALL TIME:

Whatever happened to Amelia Earhart?
Who holds the stars up in the sky?
Is true love just once in a lifetime?
Did the captain of the Titanic cry?


I am quite certain I spent no less than 100 hours between the ages of 12 and 14 pondering that last question.

Things started off on a less than perfect note the night of the concert because there was absolutely no parking near the theater.  It was dark and raining outside, and the streets were all one-way and very crowded and HELLO, MY NAME IS LAURA AND I CANNOT PARALLEL PARK.

Eventually I found a nice, big spot on a residential street approximately 4.7 miles from the theater.  It was perfect really because who doesn't love a brisk walk on a dark, cold, rainy night?

Emily, that's who.  She was not thrilled with the trek that we faced but things started to look up when we  finally (and I do mean finally) made it inside the theater and discovered that our seats were in the second row like we were some sort of VIPs.  The theater is very old and was evidently constructed during a time when people were itty bitty little things because WOW, WHAT SMALL SEATS YOU HAVE.

Things were tight and I had a feeling we were going to become very familiar with our neighbors.

The first half of the show was a documentary about the band, who hails from California.  The woman seated next to Emily felt it necessary to scream SAN DIEGO at every point during the movie when California was mentioned.  Meanwhile, the gentleman who was sitting next to me was, as my dad likes to say, taking his half out of the middle in the armrest department.

However, he was not yelling LOS ANGELES so, WIN.

The movie portion ended and after a quick intermission, the band took the stage for the show.

Everyone got on their feet for the first song and that's when it began.

The clapping.

The man next to me start clapping with more vigor than I can even put into words.  And he didn't just clap with his hands.  He clapped with his entire body.  I didn't know it was possible to clap with your knees but oh, he did it.  I've never seen anything like it.  

A few minutes into song numero uno, I kind of crouched down in an effort to avoid his elbows, and that's when I realized that he was wearing basketball shorts and a button down shirt in the pattern of the American.  It was very appropriate considering his wingspan was probably comparable to that of the national bird of the Unites States of America. 

I stayed in the strategic crouch position during a particularly upbeat song when the clapping was in FULL FORCE, and that's when I saw that Mr. Clapper was not wearing shoes.  


Lest you think Emily was having an easier go of it next to me, her neighbor screamed SAN DIEGOOOO an average of one to three times.

Per song.

Between my bare foot, enthusiastically clapping neighbor, and SAN DIEGOOOOO, the concert was one to remember and it certainly gave us a LOT to laugh about, which worked out because that is my favorite thing to do.

And Emily looked like this the entire time.

So it was worth sitting in the line of fire.

Thursday, October 31, 2013

this has nothing to do with halloween

Well today began just like every day.  In other words, I rolled out of bed at 7:10 after hitting the snooze button six times, and walked to the shower with my eyes closed while I vowed to go to bed at 8:00 tonight because I WILL NOT SPEND ANOTHER MORNING FEELING THIS TIRED.

After an hour, a huge cup of coffee, and some Good Morning America, I woke up, and proceeded through the day feeling alert and alive.  I spent the morning in court and the afternoon fielding some tough questions.

(I may or may not have agreed to do this.  Since I have neither the desire nor the license to kill hunt, I will not be shooting anything, so it sounds like my job will be scaring pheasants out of the underbrush.  Obviously I will be the best pheasant scarer the Pennsylvania gamelands have ever seen.)

(And the most humble.)

Unfortunately the lovely nature in which my day was progressing came to an abrupt halt upon my return home from work.

But before I explain, I must tell you that last night Michelle and I decided that since the holidays are right around the corner, we should get a jump on our Christmas correspondence.  Last year we sent out a photo card with a witty message that received rave reviews.  In an effort to top that, as well as perhaps FINALLY get an invitation to be on Kathie Lee and Hoda, which is our dream, this year we thought we’d rewrite the lyrics to a popular Christmas tune to summarize the last two years we’ve spent in our apartment.

Do you know the only people who will be interested in that?  Our mothers, that’s who.  But we pressed on despite the limited scope of our audience.  And we came up with the following, sung to the tune of Up On the Housetop:

Here in our town the snow falls,
The dishwasher breaks and the fridge stalls.
The heater only works for one week a year,
Where our rent money goes is not so clear.

Obviously you can see why we fancy ourselves quite the humorists.

We wrote several verses and laughed and laughed because every appliance in our apartment has broken during our residency here and do you know when it’s easy to laugh about broken appliances?

When they’re working.

Anyway, when I got home from work yesterday, I opened the fridge to get a snack, and what to my wondering eyes should appear but a completely dark fridge with a foreboding smell.  I didn’t hear any noise to indicate that the fridge was indeed on, so I turned the temperature setting down in hopes that would cause it to kick on.  That didn’t work, so unplugged it, waited ten seconds, and plugged it back in, also known as my ACE IN THE HOLE of all mechanical maladies.  When even that was unsuccessful, I called the emergency maintenance line because S.O.S.!

Ten minutes later I was in the kitchen in a panic, filling bags upon bags with all manner of frozen mozzarella sticks and popsicles (WHY OH WHY DO WE HAVE SO MANY POPSICLES) so that I could take them to my parents’ freezer, when my main(tenance) man Marv (who is at our apartment at least three times a month) knocked.  

The door was open so I yelled for him to let himself in, and he nonchalantly waltzed in, completely unconcerned by the fact that I was packing away bottles of coffee creamer like a madwoman.

“Ah, this is going to be an easy fix,” he said slooooowly, “the inspectors were in all the apartments today making sure things are up to code, so they probably just forgot to turn your breaker back on.”  He walked over to the breaker box in the closet and LIKE MAGIC, ON CAME THE FRIDGE.

“If this ever happens again,” he said, “you can just check the breaker box to make sure all of the switches are flipped before you call maintenance.”


I am the girl who calls you when our lightbulbs burn out and even flagged you down in the parking lot last winter when my car was flashing a "low brake fluid" warning EVEN THOUGH YOU ARE NOT AN AUTO MECHANIC.
In addition, I already have a lot on my plate learning to become a pheasant scarer.  If I am going to become an expert with the electrical breakers, I am going to need some serious time to study that field and perhaps a pamphlet or two with helpful tips and photographic examples.

And some wine.

At least I know that will be perfectly chilled.


Monday, October 28, 2013

the answer to the last question is - yes, he is

Occasionally I write myself little notes on my phone about funny things that happen day to day that I eventually want to write about.  Tonight I pulled up the notes app on my phone to get some inspiration and saw the following list from a few weeks ago:

Sleep cycle story
Mario -- broke his heart.
Ground turkey

I have no recollection of the stories that go along with the first two items on the list and as far as the last two go, all I can say is that sometimes a girl just needs some turkey chili and a pina colada.  

While I may not be able to remember the details about those four things, what I can remember is the last seventy two hours.

On Friday night Matt and I headed off to church to take a marriage compatibility test.  We're pretty sure we aced it and left there feeling super confident because YEAH, WE'VE ALREADY TALKED ABOUT OUR BUDGET.

(We actually had our first "budget meeting" last week and things were admittedly a little rocky at first because when talking about money, one of us speaks in terms such as "around, about, and approximately" and one of us speak in EXACT DOLLARS AND CENTS.   We met on middle ground and then went out to eat Mexican food because we needed to see how much leeway we should leave in the food budget for burritos and some supremo nachos.  It was really all in the name of research.)

Not only did our Friday night date include a compatibility test, but we also stopped at the sporting goods store because Saturday was opening day for pheasant hunting and Matt needed to buy some bullets (shot/ammunition/I'm not sure of the exact term).

Matt must have picked out a good box because I woke up on Saturday morning to a picture of him grinning eat to ear and holding a pheasant who had flown it's last flight.  Matt said he was going to head back to his dad's house to clean the bird which is when I asked "Do they bleed a lot when you clean them?"  I quickly learned that was a ROOKIE MISTAKE because about a half hour later my phone lit up with an up close photograph of the insides of a pheasant.

The answer is no, they do not bleed a lot.  I can unfortunately say I've seen it with my own eyes.

Matt came to pick me up later that evening and when I answered the door, he was standing there holding the poor pheasant's tail feather.  He wanted me to keep it, but other than having a prop when I sing the classic "Shake Ya Tailfeather" I'm not really sure what one does with the tail of a pheasant.  

On Saturday night we went out with friends to a hayride and haunted house.

It was the scariest haunted house I've ever been to.  It also included a bonus walk through a graveyard where a man SPRUNG UP FROM A COFFIN IN THE GROUND.  However, what was even scarier than the haunted attractions (and the two hour wait) was the poor couple behind us who were on a date.  My investigative skillz tell me it was their first date, because about a half hour into the wait, the gentleman turned to the young lady and, "Wait, so what's your actual name?"

I didn't think it could get much worse, but by the time we got onto the hayride, they had covered their favorite Christmas carols, their Chinese animal signs, a rifts in her extended family stemming from a conflict within a family owned business, and his parents desire for grandchildren.  

They covered A LOT of conversational ground for a first date.  And just when I thought they'd run out of things to say, she asked him, "So, are you like, really into zombies?"

Matt and I have been together a long time and I can honestly say that question is one that has never been asked.

It' just a good thing it wasn't on our compatibility test.


Thursday, October 17, 2013

those were the days

I went to my parents' house on Sunday afternoon to clean out my bedroom.  Even though I have been living on my own for two years, there were several things in my old bedroom including but not limited to my American Girl dolls, my high school and college graduation gowns, and my award winning Mary Poppins Halloween costume.

(The costume didn't actually win any official awards.  But it was probably my best costume ever.  I even had a carpet bag just like Mary and a hat with a daisy in it.)

In addition to those items, I left A LOT of books.  I went through them all on Sunday afternoon and it was like taking a stroll down memory lane. 

It appears that I had quite the dramatic taste in literature during my middle school years. 

Exhibit A:
Because really, if you're already dealing with love AND betrayal, the last thing you need to be worried about is mayo. 

Another favorite was this gem.
In addition to your mother never being a kid, Victoria Martin, she was also evidently never completely honest with you because if she was, she would have let you know that having one side of your hair straight and one crimped is not a good look. 

(I tried to crimp my hair one time. Actually, my best friend Bridget did it in preparation for the big seventh/eighth grade dance in the St. Luke's church basement. )

(And let's just say there's a reason it was only crimped one time.  Even when both sides of your part are crimped, it's really not flattering.)

And then I entered eighth grade and my Victoria Martin books were tossed to the wayside because I discovered Lurlene McDaniel.  I have vivid memories of lying in bed WAY AFTER lights out, with a flashlight, under the covers, just reading and reading and waiting to see if Katie's heart transplant would take successfully, or if Michael would be able to participate in the Special Olympics despite his juvenile diabetes and pesky case of hemophilia. 


I was practically the subject of one of these dramatic medical books myself earlier tonight after an unfortunate run in with an electrical socket.  

I was plugging my my hair crimper.

Just kidding. 

That has been retired.

And I hope Victoria Martin's has too.


Thursday, October 10, 2013

my young face and old feet average out to my current age

After I ate dinner tonight I thought to myself, "Self, you should really write some sort of post," but nothing popped into my mind.  Instead I switched from my summer purse to my winter purse and then painted my nails.  However, things in the excitement department really picked up when Michelle got home and called the police due to some suspicious parking lot activity.


A few minutes after her call, a police officer responded to our apartment and we talked to him for a few minutes about the situation.  Little did we know the best part was yet to come.  After he took down our information he looked at us and said, "So, are you girls going to college around here?"


His question came at the perfect time, because just the other night I went shopping for new shoes and ended up buying a pair of flats made by the brand Life Stride.  They have more orthotic support than any shoes I've ever owned and while I think I'm a decade or five under the target audience for Life Stride footwear, I can already tell that I will be a lifelong fan.

I did some clothes shopping after I bought my shoes, but was largely unsuccessful.  I spent several hours combing through rack after rack and came home with nothing but two plain tops that I found for $2.58 each in the clearance section.  

My shopping experience was quite unlike one that I'd had earlier in the week with Matt.  He needed a few new items for his wardrobe and asked me to join him at the store to provide fashion advice and humorous commentary, which happens to be my specialty.

He chose a few items and headed to the dressing room, while I waited just outside in case he asked for my opinion.  Well, a few minutes later I heard him WHISTLE AT HIMSELF.  In the dressing room.  At his reflection.  

Needless to say he was very impressed with how he looked in his new outfit.

We're just going to have to work on building up that self confidence.

Something tells me that won't be any trouble at all.


Thursday, September 19, 2013

the short version is that we made it home safe and sound

I had a big week last week.  I left Tuesday morning for a work conference several hours away, stayed there until Friday morning when I went to a few meetings, packed my car, made the three and a half hour drive home, ate a lunch of nacho cheese Doritos and a pumpkin spice latte at a turnpike rest stop, arrived at my apartment for the quickest transformation from sweatpants into a wedding outfit in the history of the world, and spent the night at a family wedding.

I collapsed into my bed late on Friday night and stayed there until 11:30 on Saturday morning.  I managed to pull myself out of bed and shower before noon, but that's where all motivation was lost and I just put my bathrobe back on, climbed into bed, and read a book. 

Please imagine my surprise when I heard a knock at my front door a few hours later and peeked out the window to see Matt.  Surprise visits are a lot more adorable when I'm wearing a cute outfit and some lip gloss as opposed to the state I was in at that very moment, but what can ya do?  FOR BETTER OR FOR BATHROBES AND DAMP, UNCOMBED HAIR.  

I opened the door and told Matt to hang out real quick in the living room while I changed, but I ended up taking my grand old time changing because I figured that poor Matt might need a while to process the fact that he's marrying a girl who stays in her bathrobe until mid afternoon.  

Saturday's weather was beautiful, so once I was properly dressed and lip glossed and ready to re-enter the land of the living we went over to a state park to walk on the trail for a few hours.  It was such a pretty day.

Then a friend called and invited us over for a last minute pizza/wine/bonfire night, an invitation which we accepted because that is like the perfect Saturday night trifecta.

Unfortunately that's when things started to go downhill.

As soon as we pulled up to their house and Matt put the car into park, tons of white smoke began pouring out from the hood of his car. 

We certainly know how to make an entrance!!

(Matt is going to read this and say that I am exaggerating and that it wasn't tons of smoke and it most certainly was not pouring out of the hood.  To which I say any amount of smoke coming from the hood of a car is not a good thing but yes, I may be exaggerating a bit.)

Strangely, Matt didn't act surprised by this alarming sight, and after popping the hood and poking around for a few minutes, he nonchalantly mentioned that he had been working on his car that morning and evidently, something had gone wrong.  I won't pretend that I understand the technicalities of his explanation but I know it had something to do with antifreeze.

Luckily our gracious host drove Matt to Auto Zone to purchase something to rectify the problem.   The two of them came inside a while later and assured me that the car was GREAT, NEVER BETTER, A COMPLETELY SAFE VEHICLE IN WHICH TO BE TRANSPORTED HOME, but unfortunately that wasn't true because about three minutes into our return journey, the car kindly alerted us that it was overheating.


The good news is that Matt was able to turn the car off before the engine burst into flames.  The bad news is that we were on the teeny tiny shoulder of a highway in the pitch black.  

Matt is usually a pretty even keeled kind of guy, and I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen him scared.  Actually maybe more like one finger.  And that would be Saturday night.  

He turned the flashers on but we were in sort of a precarious position on the roadway and I don't think I helped to set his mind at ease when I got out of the car and held my cell phone up.  Because sure, the motorists who are barreling towards us at upwards of sixty miles per hour will certainly be able to see a small four inch LED screen and steer away from danger.

Matt said it would be safer to stay in the car so I got back in and tried to tell jokes because apparently that is what I do when I am nervous.    

You know what I'm thankful for?  Friends who will meet you at night on the side of the road with a gallon of water to hold you over until you can get to the store.

You know what else I am thankful for?  Fiances who go into Wal Mart to buy anti-freeze when a fun Saturday night ends badly, and come out with s'mores.

If we got stranded again, at least we wouldn't have to worry about going hungry.


Tuesday, September 17, 2013

although 'highway to the danger zone' probably isn't wedding day appropriate

Matt currently shares a house with a few of his buddies, and last week this bad boy became a part of their dining room decor.  

It's an old, gigantic, fully functional jukebox complete with boxes of records and an unlimited supply of tokens.  

And it's awesome.

Since its arrival in the dining room, we've spent hours playing "Guess That Tune."  I've learned that Matt's go-to songs are typically by either Elvis or Led Zeppelin, whereas I am partial to selection A-8, Highway to the Danger Zone by Kenny Loggins. 

Can't put us in a box.

The jukebox is filled with classics and has given me tons of thoughts for our wedding.  One of those thoughts is that we probably shouldn't dance to Cheap Trick because we did so in Matt's dining room and my hip is still slightly sore from a particularly enthusiastic twirl right into the buffet table.

My other thoughts include songs that I'd like to play, and this is really all perfect timing because the item on the to-do list getting the most attention right now is music.

I've emailed several DJs, and last week I got a phone call from a company that I had contacted.  The woman I spoke with asked about our wedding and OF COURSE I told her (all) about it.  She asked what we were looking for music-wise, so I told her we're pretty simple, but we like country, classics, and wouldn't hate the occasional eighties ballad/rock song/Broadway show tune peppered in.

As far as what we don't want, I told her that while one or two Flo Rida songs is okay because I do love me some Flo, other than that we're not really into rap and hip hop.  I then may have gone onto a little bit of a tangent about how I want wedding music that is romantic and wedding-ish and that everyone knows and not a bunch of hip hop songs.

She "mmm-hmmmed" and "okayed" very politely and then she said, "Can I take a few minutes to tell you a little bit about our company?"

I said yes because I love a good sales pitch and that's when she told me "Well, we were founded by Jam-Master Jay of Run-DMC..."

Wow.  Wish I had known that you were founded by the DJ of one of the most famous hip hop groups of all time before I climbed up onto the old hip hop soapbox.


So needless to say we're still on the search for a DJ.  I'm sure we will be able to find someone who can play exactly what we're looking for, but if that's not possible, we can just haul the jukebox over.  

You can always count on Elvis and Kenny Loggins.

Saturday, September 7, 2013

it can only go uphill from here

I have a weekly routine of going to the bank and the gas station every Saturday morning.  Sometimes I will swing by the car wash or the grocery store or the post office depending on the week, but the bank and the gas station are non-negotiable items on my Saturday morning agenda.  

And I usually stop at Dunkin' Donuts first and treat myself to a pre-errand caramel coffee. 

This morning was no different, and as I pulled into the drive through line at Dunkin' Donuts, I was greeted with no less than twenty eight signs informing me that PUMPKIN FEST IS HERE, we have PUMPKIN MUFFINS and PUMPKIN COFFEE and WHITE CHOCOLATE PUMPKIN MOCHAS and PUMPKIN, PUMPKIN, PUMPKIN.

Because I am a marketing company's dream, it took me .3 seconds to decide to hope on the pumpkin bandwagon and when I pulled around to order, I said "Good morning, I'd like a medium pumpkin coffee with cream and sugar, please."

And then the lady said, "I'm sorry, we don't have pumpkin flavors."

Well that's odd, because the entire perimeter of your property here is filled with signs claiming the opposite.

I settled for an iced caramel almond coffee and I'll admit, 'twas delicious.  

Next on my list was the gas station, and it was EMPTY which made my morning since I have lots of issues surrounding maneuvering at crowded gas stations.  I parked my car, slid my debit card, and started to fill up.  

Or so I thought.

I was washing my windows when I glanced at the screen to check the gas progress and saw that the screen said, "PUMP STOPPED, SEE CASHIER."

Here is the part where it's important to note that I HAVE NEVER paid for my gas inside.  Not ever.  I ALWAYS pay at the pump.  But I put on my big girl pants and walked inside and told the gentleman behind the counter about the message on the screen at pump 6.

The man had a thick accent, but he told me that they'd been having trouble with the card reader at that particular pump, so he could try to swipe my card at his register and see if it worked.  "But first," he said,  "you will need to tell me the amount that you would like."

"Okay," I said, "Well, I have a Ford Focus which I think is a twelve gallon tank, and I'm almost on E, so I'd say about ten gallons, please."

Listen, one thing that surpasses any language barrier is laughter.  And he laughed.  OH, DID HE LAUGH.  Because by "amount," he meant DOLLAR AMOUNT, NOT GALLON AMOUNT.

I wanted to just melt into the floor and disappear.

This was not my morning.

Here's looking at you, Sunday.

Wednesday, September 4, 2013

one of these things is not like the other

When I checked the mail today, I discovered an Ikea catalog, some Yankee Candle coupons, and this...

I guess word is out to retailers nationwide that I'm engaged to a hunter.

At least I know who to call if we decide to feature some personalized camo accents on our wedding day attire.